


Just a Typical New Yorker

by its_a_journey



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Double Life, First Dates, Fluff, Forehead Kisses, Hurt Peter Parker, Multi, Peter Parker Joins the Avengers, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Relationship(s), SHIELD, SHIELD Academy, Teenagers, Training, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-26 04:49:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14394642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_a_journey/pseuds/its_a_journey
Summary: Honey, a native New Yorker, lives a double life. On the outside, she is just a regular teen trying to make it in the city. She goes out with her friends, spends too much time in Central Park, and falls in love with a boy. However, she has a major secret: she attends the secret S.H.I.E.L.D Academy right in the heart of the city. Her professors, including Fitz, Simmons, Coulson, and May challenge her to become a superior agent. This is a story of her balancing both lives and finding out that, sometimes, it's okay if they intertwine.





	1. Katz Deli

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing fan-fiction so I would love to hear what you think. I will be posting more chapters as time allows. Thanks!

You’re indestructible. You can feel the ancient power of the star coursing through your veins and it’s only 10pm. After ducking out of the apartment as quickly as possible, citing the calling of Katz Deli, you quickly jog around the block to meet everyone at the subway entrance. The streetlights catch the depth of color in your rich golden hair. A group of misfits stand by the entrance and your whole body fills with warmth as you greet each of them. A deep breath brings Emerson’s rich musk into your very soul, feeling as if he draped a wool blanket across your shoulders. High pitched squealing meets you when you turn to Jen. You match her tone and embrace each other. Finally, you turn to Theo and embrace his as well, sneaking you hand into his coat pocket in the process. He always has a bag of skittles with him. The crisp cold November air slips from your grinning cheeks as you descend into the subway. After hustling through the turnstiles, and boarding a nearly empty car, you quickly arrive to the your favorite spot in the city: the abandoned docks underneath Manhattan’s hulking sky scrapers. Jen and her boyfriend quickly wrap themselves in each other and disappear down below the docks. The Emerson and you laugh while slowly meandering along the peer. You stretch out on the weathered planks and pull out a pack of American Spirits. Your lighter warmly illuminates your elfish features but is quickly extinguished as you take a long drag. For a while you just lay on the dock, smoke and stare at the stars. The stars which burn through your blood and have passed on energy from generation to generation. The salty ocean scent is quietly blown your way and mixes with the strong smell of tobacco which it knows so well. You can’t help but startle as the car light suddenly clicks on behind you. Emerson opens the drivers door and hollers for your lighter. You groan as you roll over and hand it to him. It’s interesting, a body so young but so held so tightly by the weight of generational turmoil. Bones suddenly surpass the age of their hosts and crumble all too quickly. Eyes which have seen too much and hands that have held too much: the grief, hatred, and labour. The sounds of rhythmic waves brings you back to the present. Emerson presses his body to the left of yours and hands you a joint. You take one last drag from your cigarette before putting it out on your wrist. You trade him for the j and take it all in. For a while, you stay like that passing back and forth, gazing at the stars. 

Spurred by the incessant need for junk food, you move your aching bones up and call for Jen and Theo. The two of you exchanged glances and couldn’t help but giggle as Jen and her man, Theo, come running from beneath the dock, his shirt on backward and her hair disheveled. Back on the subway, the two lovers smell the weed had smoked and raised their voices in protest that we hadn’t shared. So there we were, high as hell, on our way to Katz Deli. In a torrid fit of giggles I watch as Theo tries to roll one in the bumpy train car. It might have been the ugliest j I had even seen but it did the trick. I once again tossed my lighter and they lit up. After we ascended to the street, we found our way inside and ordered. After the deli counter staff with three eyes placed the Ruben in front of me time disappeared and food had never tasted this good. The four of us straining not to loose all control as we were subject to fits of giggles. I slid low to the wooden chair and stared as a group of high school boys entered the diner. With only your eyes and up visible, you watch as the atypical rich boys gather in the lobby. Some you had seen from around the usual high school hang outs, fuck boys, half-wit athletes, and those who thought they owned everything and everyone. Rolling your eyes you brought your attention back to the table where Emerson had drawn on the sugar packets, recreating various hamlet scenes. Shoving and the sound of stumbling pulled our attention back to the entrance. There, the boys were pushing each other around, causing a scene, one not unlike one that you are usually inexplicably drawn to. You watch, eyebrows raised waiting for something..anything. Thats when a new boy emerges from the group, smiling as large as his dimpled cheeks could handle. After ordering, the rowdy group snakes their way between the tables. The new boys eyes drift across the dim restaurant, the only source of light coming from the yellowed recess lighting, tinged red from the neon logo. You quickly advert your gaze as you feel his eyes drawing near and then rest on your turned face. Lazily, you glance over only to meet his piercing eyes staring deep back into yours, all the way across the restaurant. You raise your eyebrows and he nervously glances away, so you dray your attention to your group in raucous laughter. You can feel his gaze slowly lessen as he joins his group at the table. The rest of the night, the four of you laugh, ponder if there is life beyond the stars, and plan what to do next. 

The moon rises far into the inky darkness and has already descended by the time your stirring. Before opening your eyes, you can sense the familiar sent of mouthwatering food, the soft feeling of cotton beneath your cheek, and the muted sound of keyboard clicks. You stay this way for a while, breathing in the rich scent of an infantile day, as your body is slowly shedding the tar like weight of sleepiness. Finally, you open your eyes to a squinted gaze to see Jen and her man quietly studied and preparing for the day. Before any other motion could be made, Jen ordered a coffee and the waitress gently set the tan ceramic mug in front of you. Smiling, you deeply inhale the sent of oh so familiar cheap coffee and breathe a sigh of thanks to your dearest friend. You and Jen had met at the academy, after being paired by May in self-defense. Nothing brings two girls together like a good o’ll roundhouse kick to the face. Granted she hadn’t meant to kick you that hard. After profusely apologizing, she insisted on taking you for coffee. The rest was history. She smiles and goes back to work, leaving you in peace to fully wake. Emerson was still asleep, leaned against the corner of the booth, hoodie pulled up around his head. After running your fingers through your hair sprayed, tangled hair, you reach for your phone and message Zack, seeing if he wanted to ditch. Almost subconsciously, your eyes flicker to the chair where that strange boy sat last night. Rolling your eyes at yourself, you return your attention to the message that came in, “Another night out? You owe me.” Muttering, you quickly shoot a message back and drain the mug on the table. While chatting with Jen about the coming week —mostly stressing about Professor Fitz engineering practical exams, the man is the world’s biggest nerd— you quickly jot a note on a napkin and slid it into the slumbering teen’s pocket, carefully avoiding stirring him. Not so gracefully slipping between the tables, you exchange whispered goodbyes and head out into the arctic morning air. Hands subtly quaking, you light up a cigarette and wait for Zack to arrive. “Those things will kill you, you know,” startled, he pulls you out of trance. Putting it out, you give him a grin and jump into the warm Uber. You pull out your makeup bag and stumble through it’s cluttered contents. While touching everything up, you couldn’t help but notice how tense Zack was. Your heart immediately went out to him; he was the world to you. Growing up together, he was always the little brother you never had. He was always there: drunken 4th of July, breakup Wednesday, and the hospital scare of 2015. After some coaxing he finally spit it out: 

“I have to get something off my chest.”

“Whatever it is, you know whatever it is will never change anything between us. I’ll always be here for you man.”

He paused, picking at the hem of his hoodie. “I’m gay.”


	2. Unorthodox Introductions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Peter's character is a little more forward than he might have been in the traditional setting. However, there is an explanation for this and it will be coming at a later date. Thanks!

I mean the man was as much in love with Matt Damon as I was. “Wow, that is so exciting. I am so grateful that you shared that with me.” You say gently.   
He made a conscious effort to meet your eyes. “You don’t think anything differently of me?”  
“Of course not, I didn’t think it was possible but I think I love you even more now. I am genuinely so glad that I get to be a part of this journey. I am so happy for you.”  
A moment of silence elapsed as he brought the vehicle to a stop and shut off the engine.  
Thanking the driver, you run around the vehicle and tackle Zack in a huge celebratory hug.   
He shares more about his closeted journey as you take the stairs to the 14th floor. You unlocked the door and trudged in. Zack followed and quietly shut the door, obviously still meditating on the mornings conversation. Turning the old rusted handle, you beckon the hot water to quench your body. As comfortable as Katz tables are, they don’t rank when it comes to cleanliness — if they did, would it still be Katz? Not bothering to shut the door, you slip off your clothes and let the soothing water cascade over your tired muscles. You take longer than usual to shampoo your hair, conscious of the pressure exerted by your finger tips on your scalp. Breathing in the warm humid air, you can finally feel the tension begin to slip from your thin figure. Humming quietly, you rinse your hair. In a single moment all of the tension returns to your body and you couldn’t help but scream when Zack’s low voice came from the vanity. “Jesus Honey, I only asked if that was the song I showed you last week!?”   
“Oh my god, I forgot I didn’t shut the door. Yeah I think so. The first one.”   
“You liked it?”   
“It was good... for your type of music,” you teased.   
“Mmhmm you totally dig it.” Footsteps start down the hall.   
Laughing quietly, you finish your shower and dawn on your favorite blush rose. After brushing your teeth, you slip into your room and sit next to him. He starts discussing the project he’s working on and as hard as you try, you mind slips from the present, caught in a blip of time from the previous night. There was something about that boy. The way his curly hair shown in the dim lighting and how his eyes creased when he smiled. Not to mention his eyes...  
“Honey... honey... snap out of it!”   
Registering what had happened, you brought the figure next to you back into focus. “You didn’t catch a word of that did you.”   
Sheepishly, you nod your head and he gives an exasperated sigh. “You’re insufferable.”   
Elbowing him, you say, “you still love me though.” You quietly exit the room, grabbing your headphones on the way out. Scrolling through your Spotify, you select Jhene Aiko’s latest album. Lost in the mellow beats and rhythmic lyrics, you begin to curl your hair. Running your fingers through your warm, hair sprayed stiff hair, you wander into the kitchen and pour a cup of room temperature coffee into your favorite mug. Then you go to the fridge and grab the milk and chocolate syrup. Pulling a large glass from the cabinet above you, you mix the two ingredients together, making sure not to clink the spoon against the glass. You grin as you get a brilliant idea. You grab the whipped cream and pull some rainbow sprinkles from the top shelf. Quietly padding back into your room, you see Zack still in the same place. He doesn’t look up until you hand him the cup of chocolatey goodness now adorned with a huge glob of whip cream, doused in rainbow sprinkles. You two smile as he takes the glass. You settle in beside him resting your head on his shoulder. For a while, you stay there, content. Sometime later, you yelp as you notice the small clock on the bottom corner of his screen. You only had an hour and a half before the loft party tonight. You grab your makeup bag and begin to put on your face. Tapping Zack’s knee, you say, “put on some hype jams.” He chuckles to himself and puts on Logic’s new album. Yeahhh that’s exactly what you need. Bobbing to the jams, you accidentally poke yourself in the eye with your mascara wand. Crying out in pain Zack looks up and starts to laugh. You cry laugh and punch him, “That’s Not Funny!”   
Barely able to articulate between his laughing, “look”   
You look at yourself in the mirror, because you had rubbed your eye, your whole right side of your face was smeared with brown mascara. “Stop!”   
He stops laughing but as soon as you make eye contact the both of you were on the floor in fits of giggles. Finally you fix your face and set it with rose water. Taking a large sip of coffee, you get up and dance towards the small apartment’s sad excuse of a closet. Pulling the door wide open and clicking on the single naked bulb, you sigh, “what to wear, what to wear?” A fleeting image of the boy from last night flashes through your head. Grinning naughtily, you begin to click the hangers, looking for just the right top. It wasn’t going to be too cold tonight, which was good. You stop at the vintage guns and roses tee shirt that was cut in all the right places. Pairing that with very ripped jeans and a thin red flannel, you got dressed. After throwing on some nikes, you look for just the right choker. Examining yourself in the mirror, you feel confident and excited for the night. You walk over to Zack to see if he is ready to go. He grabs his stuff and together you leave the house. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”   
“Honey, you know it’s not my thing. Drunk kids making out and besides, the game developers are going to drop an update tonight, with a new map.”   
“Okay, okay, your loss” After hugging good bye, you put your earbuds in and begin to walk. Taking a slight detour, you head to Gregory’s Coffee. Besides being totally addicted to their Honey Badger, it was comforting to give your hands something to do. Before making it to the counter, the barista already had your order ready. Laughing, you hand her your card. “You know me so well.” She smiled and returned my card.   
Slipping your earphones back in, you start off towards the loft. You take a deep breath as you get in the elevator. “You’re a bad bitch, you’re a bad bitch.” The smell of smoke and rambunctious laughter gradually increases as the elevator ascends. Soon the familiar and unfamiliar come into focus as the doors ding open. “Honey!” A bunch of your friends are gathered near the fireplace. Your grin is almost too big for your face, as a gush of genuine love for your friends overwhelms you. You run over and they tackle you in a bear hug. Laughing, you separate and catch up. Suddenly, your group’s song comes on and you quickly become the loudest group in the vicinity. Dancing, you all sing at the top of your lungs, jumping to the beat. In moments like these, life is good. It is freedom and joy and everything right. Swearing to hold onto this moment, you let these feelings consume you. Maybe it was the song, maybe it was your terrible dance moves, but you felt a familiar stare behind you. Running your hands through your hair, you slowly turn your body towards the boy from the night before. His face blushed as your eyes met and he shifted his gaze. All too soon, your song faded. You clambered into the oversized couch and snuggle into the warm blankets, watching the flames hungrily lick the dry logs.   
Despite wanting to make the moment last, the coffee made you have to pee. Struggling to get up, you make your way towards where you think the bathrooms might be. God, this place was huge. Must be nice to be rich. After freshening up, you make your way back through the dim, slightly creepy hallways. Speeding up you round the last corner, but a strong arm shoves you back and pins you against the wall. Stifling a scream, you have to crane your head to look up at your attacker. You had to mask your excitement as the face of the curly haired boy smirks down at you. “What the f*ck!” You pushing him back. This does nothing but make him more forceful, he corners you back against the wall. Growling, he, surprisingly gently, cups your face in his calloused hand. Before, you can catch your breath, his lips collide with yours. Instinctively, you run your hands through his hair, pulling gently. In response, his iron-like grip, presses your bodies together. He was by-far the best kisser you had ever made-out with. You finally separate, both breathing rapidly. It was all a little too much for you to grasp, you look down at your shoes gathering your thoughts. Putting his hand under your chin, he pulls your eyes back to his own and, much more gently, presses his lips against yours.   
Lasting no more than a second, he pulls back and whispers, “you’d better get back to your friends, their going to start wondering what happened.” He shifts his arm so you can squeeze between him and the wall, back into the hallway.   
Taking a few steps, you ask, “and what exactly did happen?” You turn to look back, but he was already gone. Attempting to smother the euphoric look on your face, you make your way back towards the orangey-glow of the fire. Curling back up in his lap Emerson whispers, “what happened? You were gone a long time.”  
Not quite sure what to make of the whole situation, you lie, “I got lost, this place is so big.”   
Content with that answer, he buries his face in your hair and you settle in.


	3. Orthodox Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Honey officially meet. Dante is introduced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, within this chapter is slight violence and traumatic memories. Please proceed with caution.

Around 2 am, your phones goes off and you groan, knowing who it was. “Hello mother… yes… we’re studying… yes I told you…. Yes ma’am.”  
Sighing, you slide off the couch, the only source of light coming from the warm glow of the embers. Despite taking the long way home, you arrive all too soon. Breathing deeply, calming your nerves, you try to sneak to your own room undetected. Unfortunately, she hears you and begins ranting. She escalates to yelling and throwing things, as you stubbornly refuse to let the pent up tears slid down your face. Finally, she begins to loose steam and you slip into your room, quietly shutting the door behind you. Too slumped to do anything, you wrap up in your bed and drift off to sleep. 

You wake up to the all too familiar sound of your mother screaming at your poor dad. Shoving in headphones, you blast your music and throw on a hoodie and skinny jeans. Deciding to give your poor skin a break after sleeping with makeup on, you wash it and opt only for a light moisturizer. You grab your laptop and slip into the kitchen. After grabbing a to go mug of coffee and a Granny Smith, you slip out the door, just as the sound of glass shattering reaches your ear. Sighing, you continue down the stairs, wondering where to go. You head over to the cafe where Jen works on the weekends. Business is slow, so she is perched on the edge of the counter surrounded by a bunch of teenagers. Sneaking up behind her, I tackle her from behind. She screams so loud, you thought your eardrums were going to burst. Laughing you embrace each other and you join her on the counter. She starts catching me up on the conversation and starts to tell me about how Peter was on that the Staten Island ferry when it was attacked. You tell her, “thats really interesting and you would love to know more, but who the hell is Peter?”

“Oh sorry,” she tinkers, “that’s Peter.” She gestures towards the boy who was hyperly bouncing on the balls of his feet, caught up in a conversation. 

So the curly hair boy had a name. 

She calls out, “Peter! This is Honey, the baddest bitch in town.” He shifts his gaze towards us, a look of surprise flickers over his face, but quickly shifts back into his previous expression. He nods his head and you return the gesture. You join the rest of the group laughing and joking, trying to push away the constant desire to look over at Peter.   
Eventually everyone starts to gather their stuff. On his way back to the building, Peter sticks out his hand, “Its very nice to meet you Honey.” You shake his hand, trying desperately not to blush. When you pull your hand away, you find a small note, carefully folded. Waiting to see if he’ll look back (he doesn’t) you unfold the note — “Meet me at Katz, tonight, 11 o’clock” Wondering what he’s up to, you duck back out into the busy street. 

The rest of the day passes by in a warm cozy haze. Today, the sunlight seemed a little warmer and the blue sky was dotted with friendly clouds of sweet cotton candy. Pulling out your phone, you open your messages and draft a message to Jen about Peter and the note. But, you hesitate to send it and click off your phone. Sighing, you pick up your pencil and continue to shade the waves crashing up against the pale cliffs in the margins of your notebook. Central Park was busy today, but it was to be expected for a warm Sunday afternoon. Sitting on the cool, damp grass, you watch as the ducks lazily glide along the emerald surface of the pond. Pulling out your MacBook, you work on the weeks homework, doing the extra credit too. It was always difficult to balance your actually thoughts on the subject and what the teachers wanted to hear. Unfortunately it was most the latter — with the exception of history. There was something exceptional about Professor Coulson. His classes are unconventional, more thought driven and discussion based. He hadn’t even pulled out a power point presentation although the semester was three-fourths finished. Perhaps what was most interesting was the way he was so honest about what he did not understand. He not only admitted that he didn’t know, he spent most of the class toying with that idea. He regularly emailed you on topics, knowing that you preferred not to speak up in class. The consummating discourse had inspired more thought than any other class had. From there, it had moved to stories from his childhood and you had become quite close. He even had a friend who owned a gallery downtown who had let your exhibit your artwork. Despite being close, he still pushed you harder as a student. Rereading your response to his prompt for the eighth time, you fixed a few mechanical errors and sent it. Closing your laptop, you grab your stash from you bag, you put a bud in your bowl and inhaled deeply. Coughing quietly, you lay back into the grass and sink into the melodic songs of passing cars, chirping birds, and gentle breeze. At first, you were frustrated when the peace was disturbed but when you realized it was Dante, you curbed the cutting words on your tongue. “What’s up honey?”

“Hey Dante. The usual, how’s life?”

“Still homeless but I have something to tell you.”

Cracking open your eyelids, you gaze up at his beaming face.

“I got a job!”

“Woah, no kidding buddy”

“Yeah its great. I’m washing dishes at the bistro. I’m making minimum but most days I am able to take the day’s left overs.”

Sitting up you say, “Oh Dante, that is so good to hear. I am so proud of you. Things are looking up.” 

Your heart filled with joy as you listened to his excited ramblings about his new job. Dante and you had met under a bridge on a long summer night last year. You had already stayed the week with Jen and knew you couldn’t go home. You had just settled in under the bridge when it had started to rain. Outside had turned absolutely miserable in under ten minutes. That’s when you had caught sight of Dante, chasing after his belongings out in the storm. Running out to help, you grab his stuff, much to his dismay, and pull him back to your makeshift shelter. There was a nervous silence between you. Begging the cosmos for some good luck, you stuck out your hand and introduced yourself. After thanking you all too many times, you shared a couple kind bars you found in your backpack. The two of you bonded that night, trying to stay dry, sharing stories, and eventually getting some rest. The dim city lights illuminated self-harm marks along his upper arms and a large scar through his left eyebrow. His rich black skin was stretched too thinly over his small frame and his clothing mismatched his young, vibrant personality. In the morning, you brought him along with you to volunteer at the local food pantry. It was a special opportunity to watch the joy return to the surface. Kenneth, another one of pantry volunteers, took him in like a son and let him rent out his second bedroom. From then on, you shared Thursday mornings together at the Pantry, organizing food and packing bags to be distributed. 

Looking at him now, there were only feint traces of the homeless boy I had the fortune to meet. “Hey I have the book you loaned me,” he said as he began to rifle through his bag. 

“Yeah? What’d you think? Wilde is a literary genius right!”

“It was soo good. The while aura he created was incredible. It was likely you were reading it through a hazing London fog.”

“Exactly! I am so glad you liked it. Do you want be to bring you another one?”

“Um, no actually,. I found a book for you. You don’t have to read it bit I thought you might like it.” He said sheepishly. 

“I would love to!”

His face lit up as he pulls a worn copy out of his bag. “Thanks buddy” you say as you feel the fragile spine and rough corners of “The Outsiders” 

While putting the book gently in your bag, you catch sight of the time on your watch. If you rushed home, you might have time to get in and out before your mom got home. After exchanging good-byes you begin walking home. 

Running you fingers through the various colors and textures in your closet, your thin, boney hand comes to rest on a pair of dark, skinny jeans, adorned by hand painted flowers. You pair it with a rusty orange cardigan and thin white shirt, tied in the front. You pull on a couple of dainty gold chokers and braid a few strands of hair. Running some mascara through your long thick eyelashes, you highlight, and contour. After getting ready, you slouch onto the firm wood flooring, resting your back on your bed. Pulling out the book from Dante, you oped to the last page and read the last sentence. It was a favorite hobby because when you finish the book, reading that last sentence creates a more significant sense of closure, bringing you back to the first moment you picked up the book. You sit and read, getting lost in the characters, moments, and vivid imagery. Hearing the sound of a car outside brings you back to the present, it was dark out and the sound of a slamming car door, jolts you out of your literary stupor. Grabbing your bag, you quietly slid your window open and drop onto the fire escape as you hear your mother open the front door. Taking the long way to Katz you jam to your favorite beats.

At 10:45 you reach the diner and take a deep breathe. Your heart is pounding half from nerves and the other half beating to the sheer thrill of meeting with Peter face to face. Once inside, you pick an inconspicuous table, at just the right angle to view the entryway. The thick New Jersey accented waitress returns with a chocolate egg cream and leaves you in isolation. Pulling the book from your bag, you desperately attempt to leave your nerves within the starchy pages and weathered ink. Despite looking occupied, your head is uncontrollably taking in every aspect of the room. The sound of forks against the ceramics places screech at an ear splitting volume, the music became a few louder and louder, and subconsciously you reach for the already empty mug in front of you. The cold reality of the empty cup against your lips bring you out of the suffocating trance. Sighing, you reach for your phone. 11:47. Bastard. Frustrated, you slammed the book shut and stuff it into your bag. Sliding between the tabes, you hand the guys at the front your ticket. You dejectedly made your way home and curled up in bed. You desperately making the conscious effort not to let the pent up frustration consume you. You must not become like your mother. You lay still, closing your eyes, taking in the familiar, crackling sound of the wood stove. Slowly you let the tension slip from your the tips of your toes up towards you neck and shoulders, flexing and relaxing each set of muscles as you go. You let the hazy, floating sensation to consume your body and slip off into a deep sleep. 

The next time you wake up, you find yourself with rain drops pelting your naked face, howling wind wiping through your already soaked hair. Your rapid breathing gets caught in the back of your throat as you glance down to see rocky shores being beat with wrathful waves. Suddenly, there was a spotlight illuminating the raging sea before you, and just like that, it was gone. Running along the worn wooden walkway, you desperately search for an entry. Finding a wooden door, your hand slips along the edges looking for a handle, covering your fingers in fiery slivers. You slam the door behind you and shudder, soaked to the bone. Stumbling back, your once again blinded by the light. The distant memory of salty air and musty wood planks overcomes your senses as you realize you are back in the lighthouse from your childhood. Waves of fear compound on your shivering body, as you involuntarily begin to hyperventilate. You’ve been in this situation hundreds of times, and every time it constricts your airways and shakes you to your very core just like the first time. As if being in that place was not enough already, he begins to slam on the bottom of the trap door you had latched closed. With every ear deafening knock, your heart beats faster than before. The wood begins to splinter and the trap door is quickly slammed open to reveal him. Oh how long will he hunt you, as his gaze steady slides over the room with his serpentine eyes, hungrily coming to rest on your damp, frail figure. Shuddering, you feel his eyes trail over your body as he lifts himself through the narrow opening in the floor. The floor boards groan in protest as his massive figure moves all too smoothly across the room. The mortality of the situation finally jolts your system, as you dash back out into the storm. The furious storm, a warm alternative to what has just emerged. The door slams behind you as his figure is illuminated by the revolving light, exiting through the opening behind you. Adrenaline coursing through your veins you take off, along the narrow gangway which wrapped around the cylindrical building. Just as it did in every previous occasion, you foot catches the head of a nail, sending you crashing onto the unforgiving boards. The wind is knocked out of you, as you gasps for breath. Coarse, cruel laughter erupts from directly behind you as you manage to heave your body, crawling desperately away, inch by inch. He stoops over your body and wraps a leathered hand around your already struggling airways. He lifts you, so your feet are barely scraping the ground as he forces you to eye level. As desperately as you can, you avert your gaze writhing, attempting to free yourself from his vice like grip. It is futile, he shakes your entire body like a rag doll and demands you look at him. He slams you backwards into the peeling, once white painted bricks. Struggling to stay conscious, you relent and bring your eyes up to meet his unblinking slits where his eyes were supposed to be. “I’ve been watching and waiting for this moment for years” he whispers. This was all too much, you relate a guttural scream and direct all your remaining consciousness towards kicking him away from you. He grip faltered as he staggered backwards. The railway buckled from your combined weight with a thunderous crack and sent you both over the edge. 

As if a thousand pounds had suddenly been lifted from your chest, your eyes fly open and you gulp for air. You panicking subsides as your soft comforter gently embraces your shaking body. Slowing your rapid breathing you begin to relax. A sharp knock at your window sends you spiraling. Trying desperately to steady yourself, you slip out of bed, tugging your oversized tee-shirt down towards your naked thighs. Padding gently to the window, you heart skips a beat when Peter nears the window pane. Quietly sliding the glass over, you whisper, desperately trying to sound frustrated, “Peter, what the hell are you doing here?”


	4. Target Shenanigans

“I missed our date, but I still wanted to see you.” He smiled widely, obviously showing off his dimples. This action, however, caused him to wince. All previous emotions were quickly wiped away when you noticed the fresh shining blue tint around his eye and damp cut on his lower lip. Without saying a word, you feebly reach out your hand to touch his face. He lets you and your eyes meet for a second. In those brief moments, you knew that he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, and it was crushing his very soul. He quickly glanced away and cleared his throat.  
Wanting nothing more than to help him in what ever capacity necessary you trail off, “I’m still hungry…”  
“Yeah?”  
“Always”  
Your stomach flips as he gives you a small grin, still not meeting your eyes. You turn around and smile as you feel his graze trail up your legs to meet the threadbare hem of your shirt. Giving him no attention, you quickly slid into some joggers and grab your bag. Following him through the window, you jog behind him taking in the crisp air.  
“There is a closer subway entrance this way” you mention, but he only smirked and continued to walk in the opposite direction. After rounding the corner of the block, he pulls a helmet off a motorcycle. He offers it to you, and pulls another from beneath the seat. Grinning widely, you hop onto the narrow leather seat behind him and tentatively wrap your arms around his waist. He starts the engine and you shoot off, gleefully screaming into the welcoming night.  
Together, you wind through the city streets tires barely touching the pavement. The sidewalk, bathed in warm light, flies by, as the stars gleam from above. The combined sense of the flying and warmth of his strong body in front of you, was enough to leave your cheeks sore from smiling so much. Eventually, he slows. He glances back at you and you tap his shoulder directing him into Target’s nearly empty parking lot. After easing the motorcycle into a parking spot and shutting off the engine, you slid off (none too gracefully.) He grabs his key and takes off first your helmet and then his. Unable to stifle your adrenaline induced giggles, you smile as he ruffles his helmet hair. So, that explains the unkempt mess. Together, you stroll into the store. Inexplicably drawn to the intoxicating smell of popcorn and slushes, you buy enough food for a feast. You have to grab a cart in order to carry it and you perch yourself in the basket. Laughing together, you stroll the aisles, without any goal in mind. He tells you about living with his aunt. His eyes shine with the purest pride when he talks about his aunt, he gushes about her strength and joy. Caught up in his stories, you don’t realize when you come to rest near the beauty section. Asking him to help you out of the cart, he lifts you effortlessly and places you safely next to him. Gazing up at his sharp cheekbones and bloody face, you graze his lip with your thumb and silently implore him to let you help. He just nods his head and you gently take his hand and lead him down isle 12. Grabbing a package of alcohol wipes, antibiotic, and an ice pack, you rip into the packages and sit down on the cold laminate tiles. He sits, legs crossed, directly across from you. You pull a damp wipe from the small package and gently begin to blot his various cuts, paying special attention to the one on his lip. He was quiet during the process, his hands fidgeting nervously. Quietly pausing to open the ice pack, you quietly sigh and ask, “who did this to you?“ He clenched his jaw and looked away. You curse at yourself as you can feel his walls immediately go back up. Barely audible, you breathe, “hey, it’s going to okay.” You turn your attention back to the ice pack and activate it with a loud pop. Giggling, you check the isle ways to see if anyone heard you, but you were only met with the stale speakers playing that completely overrated pop sensation of the week. You place the pack gently against his brow. He winces and for the four hundredth time, you apologize. You begin to pull away, gathering the scattered packaging from around you.  
“Honey,”  
You raise your gaze to meet his.  
“thank you.”  
Unsure of what to say, you respond with a shy smile and finish gathering the mess. You groan as you stand up, leaning against the cart for support. Reaching for the popcorn, you smirk and look back down at him. “Wanna see something cool?”  
“Of course”  
You dramatically center yourself in the isle, select a perfectly popped kernel, toss it, and flawlessly catch it in your mouth. Raising both your arms in celebration, you raise your eyebrow as a challenge.  
“Oh you’re on” he growls.  
Much to your dismay, he effortless catches a kernel.  
“Oh yeah?” You shove his shoulder playfully “Throw one”  
He lobs one high into the air and you barely catch in. Giggling, you toss popcorn back and forth higher and father until catching one is pure luck. After an especially zealous throw, your out of the isle. Grinning micheviously, you ask if he’s ready. He makes a show of warming up and stretching. Rolling your eyes, he gets himself into position. However, instead of throwing it upwards, you fling it directly at his face. You double over with laughter as the kernel smacks him right in the nose. “Hey!” His eyes widen with indignation, “How dare you!” Not waiting for him to retaliate, you dash left and into the next isle. You hear as his sneakers speak along the floor as he takes off after you. Although you stealthily attempt to peak around the corner, he easily spots you and dashes towards you. Letting out a sequel, you zigzag down aisle after aisle, barely keeping your lead. After putting some distance between you, you slow and realize he’s not behind you anymore. Sneaking along the aisles, you look for any sign of him. Halfway down a children’s toy aisle, he turns the corner, evidently looking for you. “Ha!” He quickly catches you from behind. You laugh and feebly attempt to escape. “You’re not going anywhere.” He pulls you in tighter and then buried his face in your jasmine scented hair.  
You bring your arms up to entangle your fingers in his hair. Letting the pure warm and happiness envelope your very being.  
The moment was cut short as you phone began to go off. It was your morning alarm. Jesus Christ is was 5 am.  
He was as surprised as you, “… so breakfast?”  
God bless this boy.  
After wandering your way out of Target, he brings you a small hipster coffee shop in Brooklyn. After getting two of their famous blueberry muffins, a black coffee for you, and a hot chocolate for him, you snuggle up next to him on the cafe’s iconic terribly patterned couch.  
All too soon breakfast was finished and the distant sound of the bell ringing beckoned you to school. After another thrill inducing drive to Hunts Point High School, he eased his bike to a rest. Pretending You passed your helmet back to Brooks. Without taking his helmet off, he said, “I’ll be on time, next time.”  
“Next time?”  
“Who else is going to bandage me up?” With that, he revved the engine and shot off through the parking lot.


End file.
